


but i would not want you any other way

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Authority Figures, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 02:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13354683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: Let’s put it this way. He takes the most space in any room out of every person present. He makes everyone pay attention to him just by existing. Not a threat, just respect-inducing. Natural leader. Commandeering.





	but i would not want you any other way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/gifts).



> title's from stinkfist by tool
> 
> this dynamic was way more cathartic to write than i imagined itd be. shrugs

Washington is -

He’s large, yes. He has big hands, and wide shoulders, and a wide ribcage, and he’s tall enough to make Alexander look tiny when they stand next to each other. His feet, his fingers, his hips. He’s large. Even his head is bigger than Alexander’s.

But more than that he’s -

Let’s put it this way. He takes the most space in any room out of every person present. He makes everyone pay attention to him just by existing. Not a threat, just respect-inducing. Natural leader. Commandeering. 

And Alexander wants to, more than anything else, deserve his affection. 

“Good boy,” Washington mumbles. Alexander’s got his mouth full of cock. He’s got his hands clasped together behind his back as instructed, and there’s fluid dripping down his jaw, a mixture of saliva and pre-come. The words feel like he’s finally getting a good breath of air in, like he’s being filled with oxygen, all the way down to his toes. He’s a little lightheaded. 

Washington’s cock, like the rest of him, is impressive. Worthy of worship. Alexander could form a religion dedicated just to the feeling of Washington’s cock in his mouth. He wants to, in moments like these, when he’s on his knees on the floor, choking on the length of him, Washington feeding him more and more of it, hands in his hair, forcing him to stay still – 

Washington had asked him once if he could come just from sucking dick. He can’t, but it’s a close thing. Maybe if he had Washington’s leg between his, pressed against him - maybe if he was allowed to grind against his leg, his arm, the palm of his hand, if he got the edge of the heel of his hand between his legs, and his cock in his mouth -

He can’t have that, of course. Washington doesn’t want him to come yet. If nothing else, Alexander is good. 

Alexander aches to pull off for just a second, to say something with _sir_ in it, just a broken sentence, just some words stringed together, anything — just something to establish his superiority. He goes to pull off, and Washington grabs him by the hair, pulls him back in. The head of his cock touches the back of Alexander’s throat and he fights his gag reflex for just a fraction of a second as a surge of electric arousal shoots down his spine. He goes limp. Washington’s warning grip in his hair is enough to make him flush with shame - how dare he be unappreciative of what he already has - his cock, a gift; his strong, beautiful hands in his hair; his body, his approval, however fleeting it may be. He whines around the shape of it. Washington groans, and Alexander hollows his cheeks, sucks, tongues every part of his cock he can reach like this. 

The underside of his cock; the ridge of the urethra; the spot just below the head he can just barely reach. There’s saliva everywhere. Alexander hums, gently. Washington’s thighs start shaking. 

If he had his hands free he could put them on his thighs, use them to pull himself closer, get him deeper - 

He can’t. It’s freeing, in a strange way. He has no choice but to take what he’s given. Washington fucks into his mouth, gently, first, and when he’s sure Alexander knows what’s going on he pulls him in by the hair, and then he’s fucking his face. He’s not rough but he’s forceful enough that it hurts, the head of his cock against Alexander’s tonsils, his nose slamming against bone. It’s exhilarating. It’s divine. 

Washington lets go of his hair, then, pulls out altogether. His cock feels bigger going out than it did coming in. Alexander whines. His voice cracks. He’s fighting back tears. 

“Sir,” he whispers, and Washington pets his hair, gentle, like he understands how badly he’d wanted his come. He smiles, like he knows how much he loves the denial. 

Washington makes him lay down on his back, then, and the action makes Alexander tremble. He feels so exposed. Like he’s bared down to his soul. Washington climbs on top of him, thighs on either side of his hips, heavy, solid, _there_.

He bends down to kiss over the swell of his stomach, his soft hips, and maybe there could be a time when this tenderness, this abundance of gentleness would make Alexander feel embarrassed, but it isn’t now, and Washington whispers into his skin, “I love how soft you are.” The palm of his hand over his belly, and then his hands digging into the flesh gently, as if to elaborate on the gladness to see him getting to eat however much he needs to, to see him so chubby and soft, finally, after all of these years of starved scrappiness.  
  
Washington’s lips, hovering over his skin, feel like a revelation. Alexander shivers. Washington scrapes his teeth over his stomach, over his hips, over the scars he finds there, indiscriminate, his touch the same over ragged-edged ones from fights as the tiny surgical ones - 

“Sir,” he gasps, and Washington sits up, looms over him. It’s a plea. Washington knows this. “Patience,” he says. It’s all he says. His fingers find Alexander’s nipple. Alexander moans, and Washington, face still soft, twists it between his fingers. He’s not too sensitive in that general area, but Washington knows how to touch him in ways that make him gasp despite himself, make him want to buck up or twist his hips into him.

Alexander, himself, is so wet he can feel it sticky on his boxers, on his inner thighs. He wiggles his hips, just a little bit, gently, and Washington knows what he’s doing, but he ignores him for now. Washington’s free hand finds his other breast, and he palms over it gently as he keeps playing with the nipple of his other one with the other. Alexander wants to whimper. “Sir,” he says instead. Washington ignores him, but he does replace his hand with his mouth - the light scrape of his teeth, the suction of his mouth, and this time he does whimper, thighs shaking, fingers digging into the mattress for purchase. 

“Sh,” Washington says. His hand is suddenly between Alexander’s legs, not quite grabbing, but his fingers feel like so much against him there, right where he wants him, even if it’s through his boxers, the fabric soaked through and bordering translucent. “Open up,” he says, and Alexander moans weakly as he spreads his legs, goes “yes, sir.” 

Washington runs his fingers over his clit. It’s a whiplash to realize that he’s big enough now for it to be this prominent through his boxers, that it’s this easy for Washington to find it without looking, poking out of his folds, almost tenting the fabric. Washington, as if he can read Alexander’s thoughts, says, “you’ve gotten so big, I love it, baby.” It makes Alexander flush with a mix of arousal and a silly kind of pride. _He did that_. 

Washington’s fingers withdraw, and Alexander protests, goes “no, sir —” and Washington bites his nipple in silent warning, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxers. Alexander tilts his hips up wordlessly, and Washington pulls them off of him, knuckles brushing deliberately against him, sliding through the wetness as they pass over him. He doesn’t look, but he knows his clit must be hard, visibly poking out, more like a tiny dick at this point - he knows he must be wet enough for Washington to be able to tell without touching, swollen and glistening. 

There’s a few seconds where all Washington does is switch his mouth over to the other nipple, bite on it a little bit, suck gently until Alexander whimpers, and then he’s pulling off, settling between his legs, fingers parting his folds and then two of them finding their way inside. He’s so wet and open they slide in with no resistance, and Washington gasps gently as his fingers slide in to the knuckle. 

“Good _boy_ ,” he whispers, quiet, reverent, and Alexander hears him use this tone of voice so seldom, the words dripping with approval, with desire, and he twists his body, rocks back onto the fingers in him. The nails of Washington’s fingers scrape against him, and he whimpers, Washington going “my nails hurt you?” and when Alexander nods, “serves you right. Stop rushing.” 

He opens his up so slow, so painstakingly, so gently, so unnecessarily meticulously. Alexander is trembling with desire, whole body hypersensitive, desperate, and when Washington gets the third finger in him, finally, he also bends down, gets his clit in his mouth, and sucks on it gently as if it’s a dick, tongue dipping underneath the head, against the edge of the hood at the top. Alexander moans, long, loud, and his thighs tremble, and just when he’s about to come, tightening around Washington’s gloriously thick fingers he pulls his mouth off, and then his fingers. 

“Sir —” he starts, but then Washington is settling between his legs, his dick poking against Alexander’s clit, sliding around in his wetness, until Alexander whimpers pleadingly and Washington finally slides in. 

The stretch is always glorious - the way the head forces him wide, the length of him, the thickness of the shaft. Washington isn’t the biggest he’s taken, but he’s a good size - comfortable in his mouth, yet still a stretch no matter what part of his body he chooses to use. 

“Feels good,” he whimpers, “love your cock in me, sir.” Washington kisses his neck, gentle, and then he’s thrusting in, rolling his hips, and Alexander always wonders how he settled for men who would fuck him with so little care for his pleasure, who would piston in and out, not caring about getting him off, when there’s men like Washington who know just how to angle their hips to drag moans all the way from his chest, when there’s _Washington_.

Washington, who catches him off guard, thumbs over a sensitive nipple, pinches it, makes Alexander cry out, makes him clench around him from surprise and arousal. 

“Sir,” he whimpers, tearing up, and Washington changes the angle, just barely, just enough to get more force behind the thrusts, and then he’s really _fucking_ him, and then there’s tears leaking out of Alexander’s eyes. He can feel his pulse in his clit. He’s sure it’s twitching noticeably enough that Washington could see it, can feel it against his skin. The drag of Washington’s skin over it, making him so hypersensitive he feels like he could come without any direct contact, just from being so full and the slightest stimulation of his clit. 

Washington knows this. “You’re not going to come until I let you,” he says, matter of fact, catches Alexander’s nipple between his teeth again, scrapes over it. “You know how this works, baby. Just relax. Just wait.”

And Alexander doesn’t have any options here, does he? He grits his teeth, clenches down, arches his back. Washington swears, and then he grabs him by the hip with one hand, scrapes over his hips, his lower stomach, the barest hint of nails, fully aware of how sensitive he is there, muscles fluttering involuntarily, and Washington moans, goes “you got so tight, baby.” 

“Sir, please, please,” Alexander gasps, and Washington finally takes pity on him, puts his fingers on his clit. Alexander shudders, and when Washington starts jacking him off, flicking his clit with two fingers, circling it, pulling every move he can think of his whole body goes tight, Washington groaning, going “baby -” and then Alexander is coming, clenching down so hard.

Washington fucks him through it, not holding back with his thrusts anymore, and Alexander, too tired to do anything but lie there and take it stares up at him in a haze of love and pleasure. His strong arms, the furrow of his brow, the shape of his eyes, his lips, his face. 

“I’m close, Alexander,” Washington says, voice low, gruff, one hand reaching down between their bodies to thumb roughly over Alexander’s oversensitive clit to get him to clench down on him.

“Sir,” Alexander says, suddenly desperate, breath catching in his chest, “please come in me, please fill me with your come, sir, please -” 

“Good boy,” Washington says, teeth gritting together, and then he’s coming, and Alexander knows he can’t possibly feel his come in him like he thinks he does, but it feels like he’s being filled so thoroughly it’s almost better than his actual orgasm, almost better than any of the times he had been touched directly that night. 

“Thank you, sir,” he gasps, “thank you for your come.” Washington, softening, pulls out, kisses his cheek, over his chest, his mouth.

“You’re always so good to me,” Alexander says when they’re cleaning up. 

Washington, climbing into clean boxers, smiles at him. “That’s good to hear,” he says, “you deserve that.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, but the “I love you” is implied. It radiates in the air between them, taking more space than anything else in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ johniaurens. come talk to me about my four WIPs im avoiding by writing whamilton for alex


End file.
